In her journey thus disguised to Milford Haven, she loses her guide
and her way; and unbosoming her complaints, says beautifully:

--My dear Lord,
Thou art one of the false ones; now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.

She afterwards finds, as she thinks, the dead body of Posthumus, and
engages herself as a foot-boy to serve a Roman officer, when she has
done all due obsequies to him whom she calls her former master:

--And when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
And on it said a century of pray'rs,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh,
And leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Now this is the very religion of love. She all along relies little
on her personal charms, which she fears may have been eclipsed by
some painted jay of Italy; she relies on her merit, and her merit is
in the depth of her love, her truth and constancy. Our admiration of
her beauty is excited with as little consciousness as possible on
her part. There are two delicious descriptions given of her, one
when she is asleep, and one when she is supposed dead. Arviragus
thus addresses her:

--With fairest flowers,